


Sol-AU-ce

by koosei



Series: Seeking Solace [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: AU of an AU, Embarrassed Alphinaud, Embarrassing Alphinaud is the new target practice, F/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Who doesn't like embarrassing Alphinaud, not part of the main fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koosei/pseuds/koosei
Summary: Collection of one shots/au's for my main fic Solace.THESE DO NOT TAKE PLACE IN SOLACE AND ARE AU CHAPTERS





	Sol-AU-ce

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to the Book Club for their support, and especially the help of the discord auntie and our 'male anatomy expert'!
> 
> So someone in one of my discord channels mentioned heats, and I couldn't get this out of my head. At all. I wasn't actually planning on making heats part of the main Solace fic, but this wouldn't leave my head until I started it. And now we're three weeks in to writing it, it's massive for a one shot smut, and I'm behind where I'd wanted to be on the main fic. 
> 
> Reminder that this is in no way, shape, or form, how the post Ul'dah party events actually happen in my canon for M'aila, and you'll be good. 
> 
> So ..... have some heat fic. Enjoy, ya filthy heathens~

**HEAT AU**

  
  


The thick blanket wrapped around her and Alphinaud’s shoulders smells like engine oil and lubrication grease, and the cold air of Coerthas burns her lungs. Yet still she feels like she’s burning up, the heat radiating from her body keeping the two of them warm as they trudge through the snow. The closest Cid could come to their chosen refuge was still not quite close enough to spare them the walk, and already she can feel the cold slowly freezing her toes through the thin fabric of her ballroom slippers. 

As lovely as the Thavnairian dress that Tataru had made for her is, it does little to protect her from the elements despite the heat her body is radiating. The slow, steady burn just below her navel flares for a moment, causing her to stumble in the snow and the blanket to flare open. She barely feels the cold beyond a welcome chill to her flushed skin yet Alphinaud’s hand darts forward to draw the folds closed once more. 

They reach Camp Dragonhead before she's even aware of stepping over the stone threshold of its main gate, Alphinaud blushing heavily as she clutches him protectively to her side when they pass the guards. She doesn't seem fully aware of the small hiss that escapes her when Yaelle and Corentiaux usher them into the intercessory, unnecessarily close to her and her young charge. 

The sweat beading on her skin and the rough, itchy weave of the fabric is quickly growing unbearable and Alphinaud's insistence is the only thing keeping the blanket still around her. Primal instinct screams at her to protect the child in her vicinity, even though he isn't her own, and if keeping this uncomfortable thing around her brings him comfort when she can so easily sense the deep cuts of his hurt, then so be it.

The door opening and closing behind her has a growl building in her throat and ears pinned back to her head. The sight of the tall, silver-blue haired Elezen brings a pause to it however, ears lifting slightly in interest.  _ No, this one … He's safe.  _ Safety, friendship, welcome, interest, vague impressions flit through her mind as he welcomes them and comes further into the room.

He places a metal camp mug in front of Alphinaud on his way to her, blue eyes bright with concern as he presses a second into her hands. "... safe, my friend. Be at ease."

Hands distracted with grasping the beverage are no longer in use to hold the blanket shut, and she can't help but notice the way his eyes linger on the pale green silk hugging her breasts and the smooth expense of her bared stomach. There's a hint of something darker in his scent now, something far more personal beyond the hints of ink, armor polish, and chocobo musk, and the heat below her stomach twists and yearns even as her tail curls in welcome to him. 

Bright green eyes with blown pupils stare up at him from above flushed cheeks, broad shoulders filling her vision as she takes in his scent. A half step closer shifts the blanket further, rough fabric threatening to slide from her shoulders completely and bare her body to his eyes. Watching his hand rise toward her, time seems to slow to a crawl as a low purr starts from her throat.

Adjusting the blanket to drape more fully around her, he turns and makes a point to place Alphinaud between the two of them, the back of his neck pink and rosy, and the abrupt rejection is like a splash of cold water to her senses. Blood rushes to her cheeks as M'aila suddenly bursts free of the haze that had been taking over and realizes what's happening.

Haurchefant speaks, but his voice washes over her unheard as she counts back the months to her last heat. Her next shouldn't be due for another three moons, and yet …

Furtively glancing at Haurchefant through her lashes, she watches as he listens to Alphinaud explain the events of these past few days and their flight from Ul'dah. There's much to appreciate, sharp cheekbones, a solid jaw, bright, intelligent eyes, arms and shoulders sculpted by years of hard training, he's provided shelter, comfort and care with little prompting. Perhaps he would be ….. The sharp pain of her teeth biting into her lip cuts through the haze threatening to take over again and she quickly turns her gaze to the steaming cup of hot chocolate in her hands.

No, no. This isn't good. She needs to find somewhere to nest, somewhere to weather the quickly approaching storm. She needs …  _ him.  _ Breath escapes her in a rush as she's suddenly hit a pang of want in her womb and the mental image of him leaning over her, muscled shoulders bared as he shelters her with his body and attends to her needs. Air passes quickly through the dryness that's taken over her mouth and she can all but taste that hint of arousal that had crept into his scent some few moments ago.

The fantasy continues with M'aila oblivious to the sweat beading on her forehead and the way her breathing grows ragged and harsh as she scents the air with flared nostrils and an open mouth. She seeks out his scent even as she's rooted to the spot from his refusal. The rapidly rising blush on Alphinaud's cheeks and the way he's very pointedly not looking at her goes unnoticed by all but Haurchefant.

"My friend? Have you come ill on the trip? M'aila?" Her knees visibly buckle as he says her name, and Alphinaud's hand darting to his forearm is all that stops him from rushing to her side. 

"Lord Haurchefant …" the discomfort in Alphinaud's voice is enough to get a reaction from M'aila, ears sliding back warily as she pins Haurchefant with her full attention.

Alphinaud quickly stands as well, swiftly placing himself between the two. "What do you know of Miqo'te biology? Specifically that of the Seekers of the Sun?"

His expression tells Alphinaud everything, confusion and surprise that there might be a difference from Elezen and Hyur somehow unsurprising given what he knows of Ishgard's long seclusion. "What is it? What's happened to her?" 

Guiding Haurchefant to sit again despite his misgivings, and forcing himself to visibly relax as he sits across from him goes a long way to setting M'aila at ease enough to start walking the room, blanket swaying around her form and dragging along the floor. As foul as it smells, he had secured it around her. Maybe if she were to show acceptance of his wishes he might show more interest in her.

"I …. Am not certain where to start. But do not worry yourself too much over it, it is a natural, err...  _ occurrence _ for Miqo'te." Discomfort drips from every word that leaves Alphinaud's mouth. 

"Then this is … normal?" Haurchefant's eyes track her slim form around the room. Hints of pale green peek out from under the edge of the blanket, but he can't help the impression that there doesn't seem to be enough of it. Is that why she's keeping the blanket? Is she still cold? Perhaps he should stoke the fire.

"Indeed. We will need to get her to a secure room soon, but for now it appears we have some time before it fully sets in." Turning the mug in his hands, Alphinaud notes with some disappointment that the liquid inside is nearly gone, metal now cool against his finger tips.

Blue eyes dart to the younger Elezen, narrowed in annoyance. "Speak plainly, Master Leveilleur. She is clearly not in her right mind at the moment, yet now you are insinuating that this is not yet the worst of it."

"I cannot claim to know the frequency of her … cycle. To the best of my understanding it varies twixt both tribe and individual. Yet, she has made no indication that such would be approaching and so I can only assume it has been triggered by the stress of these most recent of events."

She passes behind Alphinaud's chair then, the blazing heat coming off of her a stark contrast to his chilled shoulders. Suppressing the shiver as best he can, it's still not quite enough to sneak past her gaze. Suddenly there's a second, almost untouched mug of cocoa in front of him, and the heavy fabric of Cid's blanket is now draped over his shoulders. The strangled noise from Haurchefant has him sending a silent prayer to Thaliak for help even as his head falls to hit the surface of the table. 

"Of what sort of cycle do you speak?" His voice is forced into some semblance of calm though he can't fully hide the roughness to his tone.

A suspicion is growing in Haurchefant's mind, rumours and barracks talk once dismissed as mere stereotype and fantasies. All the same he notes the dilated states of her pupils and the sweat beading on her skin. On quite a lot of skin, really. A distracting amount, if he were to be honest with himself. Delicate gold chains loop round the back of her neck, seemingly the only support for a swath of thin pale green silk wrapping around her chest and leaving her toned midriff bare. He can feel the heat of a blush creeping up his neck and into his ears when he notices, unintentionally, the aroused state of her nipples peaking the fabric.

Looking down and away from her chest is perhaps a bad idea. The same fine chain, decorated with pale green stones, circles her hips. She's bent at the waist, tucking the blanket around her younger companion, allowing him a brief view of the way the chain and what can barely be called a skirt is designed to sit just under her tail and accentuate both the curve of her spine and the beginning swell of her behind. Someone groans in the room and he briefly wonders if Alphinaud is feeling alright, not realizing such has come from his own throat.

His eyes dart up to her face when she turns to him, better than staring at what is clearly not a skirt at all, _and_ _Dear Halone_, _surely there has been magic involved to allow her to keep some decency_. The smooth expanse of the sides of her hips are bared to the open air and entirely too distracting. Looking her in the face may be just as much a mistake, caught as he is by the sight of full blown lust being thrown at him, cheeks flushed, mouth open and panting with want below wide green eyes.

A throat clears beside him, startling him to look guiltily away from the woman in front of him. Alphinaud's face is red as the crest on his own shield now, and he's pointedly staring down into the mug of cocoa in his hands rather than observing the two of them.

"A heat is largely a biological and reproductive urge for Miqo'te, and recalcitrant as they are, we believe the same may also be experienced by the Viera and Hrothgar we see so little of. Driven by a desire to copulate and reproduce, any actions taken are largely driven by instinctual needs and subconscious desires. Though only by some few years, my comparative youth makes my own person firmly a target for such nurturing and protective instincts as would be applied to any child of her tribe."

"And any other?" His eyes slowly track a droplet of sweat as it winds its way down her firm stomach. The air has become uncomfortably dry in the intercessory, and he wonders for a moment why Yaelle wouldn't think to place a pitcher of water in the room.

"If female, competition for the Nunh's attention. If male, either a potential threat to the children and more feeble members of the tribe, or the tribes chosen Nunh."

Her hands are slowly creeping up her side, fingers trailing along damp skin as they move steadily upwards. His voice rasps like sandpaper in his throat. "And a nunh is?"

"The leader of the tribe -" The pause is long and Haurchefant barely hears the rest of the response beyond the sight of her fingers trailing along green silk and tracing the curve of her breasts. She misses touching her nipples by scant finger widths.

"And the breeding male. The only one allowed to attend to a females heat."

"And does M'aila have a nunh? What should happen if there is none present?" Blue eyes meet green, holding them tightly even as fingers ghost across the skin of her collarbone and her back arches toward him at the sound of her name on his lips.

"Then …" His voice is high pitched, and he stands from his chair in a rush. When he next speaks his voice is flat and clinical as if reciting from a textbook, even as he wraps M'aila up in the grease stained blanket. Swatting her fumbling hands away from the clasp at the back of her neck, he wraps her firmly in the folds of fabric before forcefully turning her around.

"According to  _ Wistala's Treatise on Miqo'te Biology, _ in most cases a heat left unattended will extend in duration and become a source of significant pain. In cases where a Seeker of the Sun female is bereft the attentions of an available Nunh, she would instead be free to choose a partner of her own desires." Face red with embarrassment he starts pushing her towards the doors, ignoring her sudden vocal protests as he holds the blanket closed around her. 

"I do believe it is past time we were brought to our rooms, Lord Haurchefant. If she must go without a partner, she should at least be comfortable and have a bed."

His throat is tight when he notices just how loose she'd managed to work the clasp. "Yes, I -" he pauses to clear his throat, failing to notice how M'aila's ears still flick back in his direction when he speaks. "I believe you're correct."

Making a show of collecting the used mugs, he waits until Alphinaud and M'aila are at the door and stepping outside before standing. It's only when they are fully gone and making their way to the guest quarters and his ruse is complete that he feels comfortable enough to do what he's about to do. 

Settling back into the chair, knees spread wide, he bunches the edge of his chainmail and reaches into the thickly padded trousers below. As much as the padding protects from impact, it also prevents most sensation. After watching M'aila touch herself, watching her tease and all but ask for him to touch her, it takes all he has not to groan aloud when he takes himself in hand.

The rough callouses of his palm do little to prevent the smooth slide of skin on skin, pre already dripping from the head. A light squeeze and twist of his wrist, has his head falling against the tall back of the chair. Gasping for breath and desperate not to alert the guard outside the door, he repeats the motion again, and again, and again, throat bobbing as he swallows his groans. 

How would it have gone if Alphinaud hadn't been in the room? Would it be M'aila's hand around him? His grip loosens slightly, trying to picture the feeling of her smaller fingers stroking his shaft. There's surprising strength in those hands, though. Would she have a gentle or firm grip on him? Gentle at first, then firm as she grows more confident, he thinks, tightening his fist as his hips begin to jerk up into it. The knuckles of his other hand are white with strain on the arm of the chair. His breaths leave forcefully through his nose as his arousal builds, picturing M'aila on her knees in front of him, wide eyes staring up at him even as one hand slides up his knee and the other strokes him to completion.

What would it have looked like if she'd managed to undo that clasp? He tries to imagine the fullness of her breasts, the shape and colour of her nipples, gasp ringing loud in the room as his cock jerks in his hands and a tightness begins to build in the sack below.

In his mind's eye she rises from her knees to lean over his position in the chair, hand still firmly stroking his shaft and a rough urgency starting to build in his- no, her strokes. She leans in, silk and gold chain trailing along his bare chest, and - his eyes burst open at the firm knock on the door, finding himself alone in the room once more and rough breathing the only sound in the otherwise silent space. 

"My Lord? Is aught amiss?"

A shaky exhale is all he can manage, aching hand releasing the arm of the chair to rake through his hair. Did he really almost just … to M'aila, while she's not in her right mind?

"My Lord?" 

He breathes deeply, exhale shaky and uneven. "No, all is well. Merely doing some thinking."

The guard’s assent leaves him wondering just how long he'd been lost to fantasy. His cock twitches in interest, arousal still high when the mental image of M'aila leaning over him with her hair cascading down on either side of his face flashes through him. Forcing himself to stand from the chair, he gently slides himself back into his trousers, suddenly thankful that the length of his mail will help to hide the obvious bulge. The first few steps are stiff and uncomfortable, padding not quite allowing the extra space required and balls aching for release, but soon enough he has the mugs in hand and is closing the intercessory behind him. 

"Thank you, Artenne. Lock it up for the night and consider yourself relieved for the evening." Nodding to the man's salute, he makes quickly for the building that serves as his office. Yaelle and Corentiaux are bid a hasty night, dropping the mugs on the corner of his desk for the kitchen staff to collect he quickly ducks through to the stairs that are tucked between shelves in the corner of the room. Any questions they may have regarding the condition of their guests and what happened are ignored as he disappears from view.

He'll likely face some concern from them in the morning for breaking from his usual routine, but the thought passes as quickly as it comes. The stairs are brief with his long hurried stride, images of M'aila from his earlier fantasy urging him to finish what he'd started. The upstairs hall is quiet, any guests of the House having retreated to their chambers for the night. Turning the corner to his own chambers, he’s brought to a stop by a spot of green. A pale, meadow green scrap of silk lies strewn carelessly in the hall, golden chains that he last saw around a slim and pale neck bright against the dull stone.

Beyond it, his own door lays ajar with a much smaller piece hanging on the bronze and copper handle. A scrap, really, barely enough to call clothing, yet the shape of it is undeniable. As is the slick moisture soaked into the fabric when he lifts it, a faint tremble to his hand. His fingers slip along the fabric, a musky sweet scent rising to his nose as he traces his thumb through the thick fluid, making him hard and aching all over again as if he’d never been interrupted. Eyes fluttering shut, he ignores the pang of guilt in his stomach when he lifts the sodden fabric to his nose. The scent is heady and strong, and he takes it in with a dry throat.

A sound suspiciously female in nature drifts out of the rooms, and he hurries to cross the threshold and close the door behind him before it draws further attention. The sitting room appears untouched, though the door to the bedchamber is similarly ajar. The sound repeats, a cry low and filled with wanting and like a siren’s call it draws him to the inner threshold. There, on his bed, head turned and face crammed into his pillow and breathing his scent with short panting breaths is M’aila. One hand teases at a rosy, pointed nipple, tugging and twisting it frantically as the other has snuck its way under the strips of fabric pretending to be a skirt. Her knuckles rise and fall below that and her back arches in pleasure as a low keen fills the room.

“Ah, ah! I - oh, oh yes!” Gasping for breath, the hand under the skirt picks up its tempo, eyes screwed up tight and ears pinned back while her head thrashes on the pillow. Her breasts are just as full and firm as he’d imagined, hand surprisingly small against their curves. Her gasped cries for more taper off into a keening mewl, hips and stomach rising from the comforter and undulating under her hand and tail thrashing freely below her. It’s only when she falls back to the bed, chest heaving for air that she notices him standing and watching her.

His name on her lips is sinful, even more so the way she crawls to the edge of the bed with her tail lifted and curling in the air in welcome. Her feet are bare and she ignores the rug at the side of the bed to clamber towards him from the foot, toes recoiling against the cold stone and uncaring of the way her unbound breasts sway slightly with the movement and draw his eyes. She’s close, close enough that he could reach out a hand and cup one of those breasts, test the weight in his palm and feel its fullness, and the realization has his eyes darting back up to her face and cheeks flushing with guilt.

“My -” The word is a croak in his otherwise dry and parched throat. “My friend, I-” Anything else is cut off by her left hand, the same that had just been between her legs, threading into the short strands at the back of his head and pulling him down to her for a kiss. 

Her lips are soft. Soft, and warm, and insistent as she presses against him, shaking in a full body shiver when her breasts press against the chilled rings of his armor. Her hands at his belt and sword clattering to the ground go unnoticed in the feel and smell of her. “Please,” she whimpers against his lips, small fingers twisting and tugging on his hair as the kiss grows decidedly more filthy, mouths open and breaths intermingling even as they crash together once more. Her skin is soft and plush under his hands, one grasping her hip and the other at the small of her back and holding her to him.

“I - I can’t--” 

Every attempt of his to speak is interrupted by her lips against his, her tongue meeting his in an unending kiss. He couldn’t stop returning her kisses if he’d tried. “We shouldn’t-” A groan escapes him as her hand twists further in his hair and he pulls himself away with a gasp. “M’aila. You’re not aware of what you’re asking.”

She follows his every move, mouth capturing his once more and pressing into him with every onze of her desire. Teeth gently grasp hold of his lower lip, and his head follows her motion as she ever so slowly draws away and lets it escape her, teeth dragging sensation through him in a way he hadn’t considered. Her pupils are wide, dilated even more than they had been previously, but there’s more of her in her gaze now - as if her release returned to her some of her senses for a brief moment. 

“I am. For the moment, at least. Please Haurchefant.” Her voice cracks with the request, convulsing under his hands once before she’s pressing even further into him despite the chill. “ _ Please. Be my Nunh.”  _ Her request is whispered against his lips as she reaches upwards with her body, arms bearing down on his shoulders to bring him to her height and resting her forehead briefly against his before brushing her lips against his with a barely there touch. Her mewl, pleading and desperate, undoes him. “ _ Please.” _

His thumb is digging into the soft skin of her hip, holding her steady even as he hesitates. His desire to do this properly, to  _ woo _ her properly, at odds with her desires and his want - no, his need - to submit to them and allow her to have her way. Her shuddering breath and the convulsion that leaves her grasping at his mail makes the decision for him. Regardless of his desires,  _ she _ is in need and he in a position to provide succor.

Hand cupping her cheek gently he presses his lips against hers in a gentle press, keeping it soft and slow despite her passion and the way she melts into him with a moan. She tries to follow when he draws away, eyes closed in bliss and dark lashes heavy on her cheeks only to be stopped by a single finger held to her lips. “Pray, allow me to remove my armour first, my dear.”

He takes the moments spent in removal of his armor and padding to also calm the pounding of his heart in his throat, only to freeze with his head still stuck inside his gambeson at the feel of her hands on his back. Fingertips lightly touching his sides turn to palms mapping out the muscles of his back, leading into her nose pressed into the sweat damp skin between his shoulder blades. A purr rumbles through her chest into his and the way her breasts press into his back as she pulls in a deep lungful of air has him fumbling to pull his head out of its confines.

Her mumbled appreciation of the way he smells nearly distracts him from the way her hands wander down to the ties of his trousers. He  _ feels _ her groan when she encounters his hardness through the padded fabric, savors the way she melts into him further and her frustration at his lack of reaction to her stroking touches. Frantic fingers tug at the laces, stopping only when his fingers twine with hers. Turning in her embrace, he pulls her chin up with a finger, easing her with a soft, gentle kiss. “I’m still here, M’aila. I won’t leave you.”

“I - I need …”

Sliding his hand soothingly down her bare back, easing it through her curls on its way back up, he swallows her gasping breaths with his mouth but resists when she tries to deepen it further. “Wait for me on the bed.”

Another shudder goes through her at the hint of command, practically sprinting to the four poster and hands flying to the clasps at the side of her skirt only to freeze as a low, almost growl sinks into his tone. “No.” The wide eyed way she looks back at him, ears down in chagrin at disappointing him somehow, hair barely obscuring the curve of her breast from view -- he is handling his laces more roughly than he should. “Leave it on.”

Staring a moment, her eyes are caught with his, only for her to scramble onto the mattress when the laces finally come free. Ilm by ilm he draws them down, thumbs catching his small clothes on the way. Her ears are pointed directly at him, green eyes wide as she follows their journey down his hips. A needy moan leaves her open mouth at the sight of his cock springing free, hastening their travel down his body with him stepping on the bunched fabric to pull his ankles free of leggings and socks both. Long legs bear him quickly across the room, prowling, knee taking his weight on the mattress as he crawls to her. 

“You are certain?” Cupping her face in his hands, thumbs gently stroking the stripes running along her cheekbones, he searches her face one last time for any sign of doubt.

" _ Please _ ."

Hands shaking as much as her voice, M'aila turns her cheek into one of his hands for a moment before guiding it down. Captivated by her direction, his fingers trail down her jaw, her neck, over the sharp edge of her collar bone. Down to where the firmness of her ribs starts to give under his fingers, becoming soft and pliant and round. Her wrist curves as she guides him to cup her, a gasped exhale against his ears as his long fingers encounter her nipple.

Blue eyes watch and commit to memory the way her eyes unfocus and slide shut as he savors the weight in his hand and traces his fingers with a barely-there touch around her areola. Even as she shifts under him, angling for a direct touch, he's certain to maintain that distance. 

Pressing her face into the other hand still cupping her cheek, taking in his scent with deep open mouthed breaths, her lids crack open to meet his. The haze of arousal has returned, clear to him now that he knows to look for it. Ducking his head, he presses a tender kiss to the corner of her jaw, below where her ear would be were she aught else but a Miqo'te. Making his way down her throat, he's hit by an inexplicable urge to drag this teeth down the straining muscles of her neck. 

Her groan fills the room, hands flying to the back of his head and tangling in his hair. He digs in, sucking at the hollow of her throat while she arcs further into him, her groan turning into a high pitched keen. 

And oh, does his scalp  _ burn _ when she pulls his head away, bringing him back up and sealing her lips over his. She swallows his yelp of surprise, holding his mouth to her by sheer force of will as she slides her hand along his cock. His own hand and imaginings can’t compare to the feel of hers on him in truth, slim fingers sliding along his length in a rhythm that scrambles his mind. All the nights spent alone in this very bed thinking of her, all the moments lost to wondering how she would feel beneath him, and now that it’s happening he’s lost to her whims.

It’s only when he feels the slick moisture and searing heat of her body pressing at his tip that he realizes what she’s doing. Prying her hands away has her whimpering under him as her gathers both of her wrists in one hand and pins them above her, pressing firmly into the mattress. “ _ No, please. I need _ -”

Silencing her with a kiss, he savors the way she shudders under him when his other hand trails along her side twixt her ribs and her hip. “Let me take care of you, M’aila.” Sucking another bruise into her collarbone, he presses her writhing hips into the mattress with his other hand, leaving only her shoulders and chest free to seek contact.

It's only when she stops fighting his grip and instead is pressing only into his mouth that he cautiously releases her wrists. She returns her hands to him hesitantly, fingers gliding up his chest and around his shoulders. Satisfied that for now she’s seemingly content with keeping them there, his thumbs rub circles in the skin under her breasts as he kisses his way down her body. 

Pausing briefly, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and suckling hard enough for her to arch her back, her hands flying into his hair again. Treating the other one to the same, he pulls them together and presses soft, dainty kisses to the side of each breast before continuing down her body. The fringe of his bangs drags along her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he kisses his way down her stomach, stopping only to reverently trace the way golden links dip under her belly button and curve over her hip bones. The skirt is sewn directly to the chain, and for a brief moment he entertains the idea of tearing it free, those little loops of thread snapping free and leaving her bare to his eyes. 

Chapped lips press a kiss to her hip, eyes sliding shut as he lets the thought wash over him. Even so, his hands slide underneath her, fingers still tracing the edge of the chain and ghosting along her skin. A quick jerk and he takes advantage of her surprise to pull the chain and fabric both down her hips, sadly still in one piece. Perhaps another time she'll allow him to tear it off her …

The globes of her ass fill his hands as he pulls her to him, mouth ghosting along the seam of her legs and down her thigh. Green eyes are hooded behind lowered lids as she watches him with rapt attention. A quick trail of his teeth on over-heated skin has them fluttering shut as her head tilts back into the pillow and the firm muscles of her thighs tense under his hands. He could spend forever here, sucking marks into her thighs, hands mapping the strength in her calves and feeling the restrained power in them.

But there are other things to attend to, other matters that take precedence over his desire to worship the power of her body. Even as he lavishes attention at the crook of her thighs, lapping up the spilled slickness from her earlier release, more yet pools and collects in her folds. 

Feeling the way her thighs tense in anticipation, he can't help his wicked grin as he slowly traces his finger along the thigh opposite his face, sliding closer and closer. Her breathing is already harsh and it catches in her chest when he diverts his course to tease along the edge of her mound. A quick glance shows her watching with wide eyes, anticipation and need plain on her face. Holding her gaze, a single fingertip trails along the outer edge of her core, the short soft hair soaked and offering no resistance. Reaching the bottom of her, he pauses, waiting, watching for her reaction and savoring the way the muscles under his arm twitch with restraint.

If he was slow before, he's positively glacial now. Pressing lightly on her entrance, he can feel even from the outside how her inner walls are clutching at the empty space between them. Blue eyes darkened with arousal catch every shift in her expression as he teases the hole of her cunt. 

She can't help the loud cry that escapes her when the finger's teasing is replaced with the flat of his tongue, flicking teasingly at her entrance. Any attempts to raise her hips and urge him on are met with frustration as he pins her down with his forearms. His finger pressing and rubbing over her clit throws her into a sudden orgasm, spasming around his tongue as he laps at her entrance. 

Her hands fly to his head, fingers tightening in his hair as he proceeds to seal his mouth over her, alternating between licking at her entrance and teasing and sucking at her clit. Cries fill the room as the pleasure takes over, hips mindlessly grinding into him as she chases her pleasure. Then a finger, pressing more fully at her entrance, sinking just inside and stroking that soft bundle of tissue sending her tumbling over the edge once more. Not even waiting for her walls to stop fluttering and clenching down on his fingers, he keeps going, keeps sliding it inside of her until his hand is pressed to her mound and he aches with the desire to bury himself inside her. 

One finger becomes two, two becomes three. And then they spread, stretching and preparing her for more. All the while his tongue at her clit drives her mad and he commits as much of her passion to memory as he can. Fingers slow as he stares at the sight of her rosy cheeked and panting, curls spread on his pillow -- he crawls up her body, unwilling to resist the urge to kiss her again. Hands scrabbling at his back, she rises up to meet him halfway even as he holds her face in his hands and brings their mouths together.

It doesn’t take much for him to maneuver himself such that he’s bumping against her entrance. A quick adjustment, a hand to hold himself at the right angle rather than sliding along her folds, and then, finally, he’s inside of her. Her groan is swallowed in a sloppy, open mouth kiss, panting breaths mingling between them. For all the care he took she’s still tight around him, walls clenching around his cock - whether in welcome or protest he can’t tell. Hand sliding around to cup her rear, he draws his hips back, sliding out only to ease himself that little bit farther in. He briefly wonders if he might leave a bruise with his grip on her, but his worry dissipates as quickly as it comes with how appealing the idea of leaving even a temporary claim is.

“Ah! Haurchefaaaaant!” How long can he make her draw out his name like that? “Oh, please!” How high does her voice go? Can he make her sing just for him? “AAHH!!” That’s a spot he’ll have to remember, if it makes her cry out and jolt against him like that. She’s holding onto his back so tightly. Will he be sore and raw with scratches after the night’s end?

Every noise she makes urges him on further and soon he’s hilting fully inside her with each thrust of his slow and steady pace. She’s trembling under him, on the verge of orgasm once more and eyes unseeing as she gasps out demands for more, please more. He can see her need for release, feel it around him, and even so he continues making love to her, determined to make it worth it even if it isn’t what he’d imagined for their first time.

Then she's bucking against him with a cut off wail, hips thrusting forcefully against him as her orgasm takes over. Forcing himself to keep going, to keep moving inside her despite the way she's clinging and convulsing around him, is more difficult than he'd imagined. Closing his eyes, pressing his forehead against the clammy skin of her own he fights back his own completion with deep ragged breaths.

He’s so focused on keeping his pace, on trying to ensure he’s neither too rough nor too gentle with her, on ensuring he can last at least a little while longer for her, that he doesn’t think anything of it when she wraps her legs around his hips. So caught up in the pull and flow of the rhythm, he doesn’t think to brace himself until it’s too late and she’s pushing his hips down with a sharp jerk of her toned legs. Spasming around him with a sharp cry, his name is moaned into the air around them as she does it once again. 

A third time and he realizes her unspoken request. Drawing himself away, stealing a quick kiss on the way, he's careful not to break their connection as he sits up. Hands grasping at her hips, she's pulled closer for a better angle and oh, if that squeeze around him wasn’t a surprise. Tucking the thought away for later, he starts again with slow shallow movements before burying himself inside her with one firm, hard thrust. 

Driving into her again and again and again, her voice climbs ever higher as she clings to the straining muscles of his arms in desperation. One hand sliding up to hold firmly at her waist, the other slides over the curve of her hip to find that small, sensitive nub between her legs. Sweat beads on his forehead, pace unrelenting as he finds what he's seeking and rubs it mercilessly against the hard edge of bone below.

His own panting breaths and the slick, obscene sounds of their sex are the only sounds in the room for a moment, cries for  _ more, yes, please, more _ choked off into silence as her next release steals the breath from her lungs. His own release is building, tension forming again in the sack slapping against her skin with every thrust.

Dropping down over her, bracing himself on his forearms on either side of her face, he grinds down into her with every hard thrust, breath panting against her forehead and ears, causing them to twitch with every gust of air against their furred edges. Her mouth on his neck, taking advantage of the rare opportunity presented to her, drives him on further, thrusts stuttering as she momentarily sucks at the lump in his throat that rises and falls with every chant of her name.

The tension peaks suddenly in his loins, barely any warning at all. Seizing her mouth in a rough kiss, his hand darts to her clit as he grinds down into her. 

And then he's tipping over the edge, a hoarse shout joining her cries as she clamps down and flutters around him in her release. Cock pressed as far into her as possible, hips and thighs shaking with the force of it, his release flows freely into her womb.

He stays like that perhaps a moment longer than necessary before gathering his courage and drawing himself up to look her in the face. Eyes still lidded, panting for breath, she's obviously tired and exhausted but it's finally M'aila looking up at him again. 

A faint smile curves her lips even as the aftershocks of her orgasm still twitch around him and she drags him down to her once more. The soft chaste kiss warms that part of his heart worried about what would happen next, his own larger hand cupping hers as she smooths her thumb over the high plane of his cheek. “M’aila, I --”

She sees the apology forming in his eyes, and takes another kiss from him before he can voice it. His lips are dry and chapped from the cold, but painfully gentle as he returns the affection. "Please don't. If anything I'm the one that owes you an apology." Murmuring the words into his lips she holds him to her, knowing full well that if he truly wanted to leave she wouldn't be able to stop him.

"But you couldn't help it." A gentle hand pushes sweat soaked hair back from her face. It near breaks her heart, how he's handling her as if she might bolt and leave him at any second. "You weren't in your right mind, and I -- I --"

Her legs had fallen open on either side of him during their fervor, and he doesn't resist as she wraps them around his waist and flips them over. Sitting astride him, her core clenches around the sudden emptiness now that his softened member has slid out of her. 

Leaning over him, her long red curls fall in a curtain around them, obscuring all other hints of the room. Already she can feel the heat starting to curl inside of her again, voracious in its early stages. "It could only have been you. If you hadn't, I would be spending the next week bed-ridden and in pain."

Staring down at his shoulder, she debates how much to tell him. If he doesn't share her feelings and decides to leave, how much more painful would this heat be without him after she’s already had him once? Incredibly so, she knows without hesitation. But if he knew, maybe he'd stay for the duration? Maybe he'd share in future heats too? Maybe … Maybe he’d even want more than just the heats? The yearning inside her is too strong to entertain that thought fully, but  _ oh does she want it. _

"I've … been considering asking you to share in a heat with me for some time now. I -- " Looking back into his face, the bright blue eyes that have always been so warm and welcoming to her are still there, swimming with emotion as he takes in her every word. "I’ve wanted you too long to want anyone else for this. Even if it weren’t for my heat, I'd have liked for us to come closer regardless. I … I want  _ you _ . Just you."

His voice is low and reverent, whispering her name into the space between them. A wave of feeling, bereft of the urgency of the heat, washes through her. Oh, to be able to keep hearing her name on his lips. He doesn't say anything more though, and doubt starts taking over.

Bracing a hand on his shoulder to push herself up with, she sits atop him, one arm wrapping around her ribs in a sudden show of self-consciousness. He hasn’t said anything yet. Maybe she shouldn’t have said so much. "If you don't want to continue, I'll go. I've gone through heats on my own before. I'll be fine." 

The comforter is a better place to look at with the doubt now plaguing her. A soft cream fabric, the unicorn of House Fortemps sits in a repeating black diamond pattern across it. The stitching is finely done and she forces herself to focus on it. It's not much of a distraction, really, despite the way he rises up to meet her. 

His hand slides to her hip, then up and around her back, pulling her to him. Cradling her head against his chest, nose pressing against the base of one of her ears and breathing the scent of her, he wraps her in his arms. 

“I’m here for you. If it’s within my power, whatever you want, it’s yours.” The words are soft, the sound cushioned by her hair, but the way she shudders as she melts into him is telling of her desire for that very thing. 

Would it hurt more or less to find out he’s doing this only out of duty? Pushing herself away, her hips are already starting to rock slightly against him of their own volition, spreading the proof of her desire along his shaft as the heat builds again. It feels too good for her to stop herself once she realizes what she’s doing. She'll need to leave soon if she wants to be able to lock herself away, but some small part of her wants to take what she can get for now. The thought of locking herself away after having had him, after having felt him inside and around her and having his tenderness directed at her and only her … the thought hurts. 

"M'aila? What is this?" Her eyes snap down to where he's tracing a design on her skin. Or rather, tracing the now visible design spelled into her skin. 

At first glance it would look like a heavily stylized heart, but in truth it echoes the shape of her womb with branches curving to either side of it to what the healer had called ovaries. Menphina's moon sits in the centre of the spell, with Nophica's tree curving it's barren branches inside the sphere. It's a standard spell given as an option to all adventurers of child bearing age that have signed up with the guild, a precaution for the dangers and rough lifestyle inherent to adventuring, which makes his surprise and the hint of concern in his voice unexpected.

"You … haven't seen one before?" 

She can't stop the shiver that goes through her as his thumb sweeps over her stomach. What would it be like to have his seed actually take root and grow inside her? He'd make a wonderful father, she's sure of it. The concern in his eyes is touching, and some part of her hopes his hands will never have to leave her body.

"It's a -- a type of spell. I don’t remember what the healer called it. Anyone who signs up with the Adventurers Guild can get one for free. It only shows up when it's actively .." not sure how he'll respond, she thinks carefully over her phrasing. "When it's actively preventing a pregnancy."

"Aaah. We use a different spell for our female knights." Hand freezing in his fascinated examination of the design, there's such a slight change to his voice that she barely notices it. " _ Oh _ . That means …" His gaze jerks up to her face, eyes wide and surprised. Still unconsciously shifting her hips, she fails to miss the way he starts to harden again beneath her.

Her voice is wry but wary still as she understands what he's only just realized. "That  _ is _ the point of a heat. Everyone knows we’re especially fertile during one. Twins and triplets are fairly common for certain tribes too."

"Is it … permanent?" A hint of longing enters his voice as his hand slides to cup her stomach gently, as if he’s imagining a child within as well. The thought that they might share the same desire has her tail stopping it’s anxious twisting and her hips ceasing in their movements. For a moment, she wonders if she’s truly brave enough to ask if that’s something he’d want some day. If he’d want that with  _ her _ . Her hand raises to join his, freezing in indecision before falling back to rest on the muscled thigh that’s propped up behind her. His hands slide to her hips and guide her back into the motion.

"No." Her voice is shaky now with his blatant invitation to continue. "They need to refresh the aether in the spell every few years or so. More frequently for us, I was told, because of the intensity of our heats." 

"Intensity?"

One particular motion has the head of him rubbing directly against her clit, and it's only his hands on her that keeps her from falling forward with the tremor that passes through her. The flush that had faded quickly returns to her face as does the demanding need for her core to be filled.

"If - if I have a partner, mine last usually three or four days." He keeps sliding her against him in that particular way and she has to fight to keep her composure and stamp down the return of the lust that had previously overtaken her. "This one will -  _ aaah! _ \- will probably be shorter since it came early." 

A small buck of his hips has him sliding more forcefully through her wet folds. She can feel his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hip bones, and the thought of him in control of her pleasure has her eyes sliding shut with a moan. The next few strokes are small and shallow, barely moving even as he grinds her down against him.  _ "Haurchefaaaant! Don't tease!" _

"Tease? This hardly counts as such, my dear. If this shall last days, then we should pace ourselves. It wouldn't do to expend all our energy in the beginning." Eyes flying open to stare at him, in her surprise she almost doesn't notice the mischievous grin on his face. He's really going to let her _ stay? _

Tugging her down to lean over him again, she catches herself with a hand on his chest just before they collide. Still he keeps sliding her hips along his length, and soon she can feel his head bumping against her entrance. This close, moaning as he starts sliding into her with the new angle, there's no denying that he's watching her every reaction and enjoying what he sees. 

"I have wanted you for as long as I've known you M'aila. I've wanted you with me at my side for nearly as long as that." Whispered words quiet and reverent, he keeps his pace steady as he holds her hips in place; she can feel the heat rapidly returning, now that she's being filled again. His eyes are serious, no sign of joking half-flirtations or teasing innuendo to be seen. It warms her in a way she hadn’t expected.

"I don't expect you to stop fighting primals, or to stop helping those in need. You're no soft lady to be content cooped up in a keep. But Halone help me, if this is all of you I can have -- if this is the only part of you I can keep to myself, then I will take all that I can." His thrusts are fast and rough suddenly, his arms pressing her to his chest possessively and pinning her hips against him. Feeling as if he's pressing into her even more fully than before, she can only hope to cling to him as true understanding of his words escapes her for the now,  _ and how is she so close already? _

Her startled cry is smothered by his mouth on hers, release building and cresting over her suddenly. Fucking her through her orgasm causes another to rip through her immediately after, the haze settling over her mind once more as she's swept away by the pleasure.

She can only whimper as her boneless body is lifted off of him, strong hands turning her around and positioning her so that her rear is lifted into the air and he bent over her from behind. Holding her hips steady and plunging into her once more, her cry sounds to him finer than any of the choirs of Eorzea and he is determined that this time he’ll do his utmost to make her scream his name.

  
  


*********

The surprised disbelief on Yaelle and Corentiaux's faces does little to abate the flush rising in his own. How are these people so ignorant of the basic facts of Eorzea's races? Is he really going to have to explain this to everyone in this Thaliak-forsaken camp?

"So they're …" He can see the start of a blush on the older woman's face.

"Yes." Alphinaud's voice is short and terse. "As I've already said, I don't know her cycle, and it could last anywhere from two days to a week."

Yaelle's eyes drift to the ceiling above, flush rising with every ilm they travel upwards.

Corentiaux needlessly adjusts the collar of his shirt as he shifts in discomfort. "I shall see to it that they are left alone then, and that Medguistal knows that only we three are to deliver their meals."

Running a hand down his tired face, Alphinaud clears his throat briefly. "In the meantime, would there happen to be a spare cot elsewhere in camp? Last night was …" his grimace at searching for the properly polite words for being repeatedly awoken by the very distinct sounds of a couple lost to passion says it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Have I mentioned that embarrassing Alphinaud is a lot of fun? Cause it really, REALLY is! :D
> 
> Not sure yet if there'll be a continuation of this or not. It'd be another AU chapter, cause Heats are DEFINITELY not going to be part of the main Solace fic.
> 
> Thanks again to the Emet Selch Bookclub for their unending, wholesomely debauched support! If you want to join, we can be found here! https://discord.gg/juatmUP


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